


The Law of Surprise (and Being Careful What You Ask For)

by Allurascastle



Series: Law of Surprise [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Gen, Post-Canon, Prequel, Witcher Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allurascastle/pseuds/Allurascastle
Summary: Tybalt didn't know what he expected when he invoked the Law of Surprise for his reward. A small child was not it.He doesn't evenwanta small child.





	The Law of Surprise (and Being Careful What You Ask For)

**Author's Note:**

> This is set ~60 years after the events of Witcher 3. In this worldstate, witchers have _somewhat_ begun taking apprentices; Ciri had children, two of which became witchers and underwent different mutations than generations past.

Tybalt stops and stares behind him as, for the third time in less than an entire day, he hears the girl begin to cry. Not a loud, wailing cry, no- and for which he is thankful, his ears are sensitive enough without piercing screams- but rather a pitiful, sniffling sob, reminding him of a maiden realising the bard who had captured her affections was not, indeed, after her heart.

Which is to say, it makes him wince a little as he watches her.

Unaware he's paused, she continues blindly stumbling after him, looking reminiscent of a sad puppy learning how to walk on its stumpy little legs. Its terrible of him, but he just watches as she continues tottering forward. Inevitably, she bumps into his leg.

Yes, he realises he should probably have caught her by the shoulders before she did so. Hush.

As a consequence, she falls onto her butt in the dirt with all the grace of a bumbling cyclops struck in the eye. And, then, her cries grow in intensity, hiccups joining the sounds somewhere between her sniffles and once-soft-but-not-quite-as-soft-now sobs, alternating every few cycles.

_Why me?_

The words,  _"Surprise me then; bring me the first thing you see when you return home,"_ flash through his mind, spoken to a poor elven woman who didn't have the coin to pay him.

Yet again, an elf in Novigrad had done what? Repaid his kindness with something he _really_ didn't want. What was with elves in Novigrad?

Just- really, a four year old? 

Such an outdated practice. Witchers aren't even  _supposed_ to take apprentices. He and his sister were... exceptions.

She could have given him a candlestick. A candlestick was useful and doesn't cry. It was not worse than the poisoned cheese he was given a year ago, he grants, but still...

Wait, was it a year ago? With a small shake of his head, he pushes the thought away.

His sister would have a right laugh at him if she saw him now: standing like a fool with their eyes to the heavens, wondering if this is a punishment for some misdeed or the sick amusement of a truly bored being, all while a tiny half-elf  _baby_ cries at his boots. 

_Why? Why me?_

Tybalt sighs and crouches down to be closer in height to her. "What's wrong now, Fionúir?" He can't help the exasperation in his voice; he is very exasperated.

Fionúir, to her credit, seems to calm after a few moments. She sniffles some before pulling her hands away to swipe her nose along her sleeve-  _I need to get her new clothes,_ he notes with a bit of a grimace. Her current clothes don't fit her very well and are ragged, worn thin, and covered in patchwork; not only will they not keep her warm at Kaer Morhen, they are obviously hand-me-downs.

"My feet..." she answers, a big pout on her features as she gestures. Paired with her big, puffy blue eyes and general disposition, this makes her look quite pitiful.

"They hurt?" He won't lie, he feels a little chagrined as he refrains from sighing.

She nods.

Tybalt looks down to inspect her feet, whether they're just sore because she's not very used to walking very much or if there's something to do about the pain, and blinks a couple times.

Oh yes, he definitely needs to get her new clothes. The soles are almost completely worn through, and they're a little too small for her.

"Alright," this time he does sigh, "I'll carry you for a bit. Okay?"

"Okay..." 

This was going to be a tedious journey, wasn't it?

* * *

_Old man,_

_Through a series of events I'd rather not discuss, I'm bringing a guest. Childproof the keep._

_T._

Tybalt blows on the ink gently, before setting the parchment back down to finish drying. He'll send it off on a messenger bird later.

For now, he has a small child to awake so they can buy her new clothes.

Fionúir had grown too tired to keep walking last night, so he had carried her the rest of the way into town and paid for a room. He is grateful, actually, that all the walking they have been doing wore her out so thoroughly; normally going to bed is a frustrating time for the both of them. 

She insists every night to be sung a lullaby. The issue is, she always wants a  _specific_ lullaby he doesn't know, and gets upset when he doesn't sing it right.

 _Should walk that long some more,_ he muses, looking over at her sleeping form on the bed next to where he's sitting, _if it's going to put her to sleep for me so well_.

She's curled up in a ball around her stuffed toy. A cat, he thinks. It's very well-loved.

He stares at it a few moments. Its body is thin, like all the plush in it has been squeezed out, and he can see places its been torn and stitched back together, rundown and scratched little button eyes, and a worn thread nose. The seams holding its left arm are loose, leaving it dangling a little.

Very well-loved.

Tybalt leans down, shaking her shoulder. "Fionúir, it's time to wake up."

If anything, she just snuggles into the bedding more. Which is... cuter than she has any right to be. He almost feels bad for waking her.

Almost.

"Fionúir," he says again in a hushed voice, shaking her once more, "wake up." It takes some more coercing and pestering, but eventually she does stir, groggy and looking a bit grumpy. Trying to placate her, he says gently, "Come on, let's eat."

She shakes her head with a big pout.

"No? Aren't you hungry?"

She shakes her head again as she sits up and begins to crawl. To his dismay, she climbs onto his lap and snuggles against his chest before promptly falling back asleep. He stares down at her, peacefully resting her head against his shoulder, face slack and peaceful. _Cute..._

 _I guess I don't need her to be awake,_ he concedes, sighing,  _I just can't leave her alone._

With that, he stands up, holding her to his chest carefully. He grabs his cloak and drapes it over her and secures it on his shoulder, so the wind and light don't disturb her, before setting out.

The town is unremarkable, the houses made from wood with thatch roofs, and trodden roads of dirt; it is, in reality, little more than a simple village, distinguished only by an increased foot traffic and wider array of wares available for trade. He's hoping that he'll be able to find children's clothes, preferably unworn. Fionúir needs sturdy clothes, sooner than later.

It takes him the better part of the morning to find such clothes, wandering the town and soliciting every merchant he finds, but he does.

His arms are actually beginning to feel exhausted by the time Fionúir- temporarily christened 'Fiona' so as to avoid unwanted attention from the townspeople- deigns to wake up. The first minute or so, she sleepily rubs her eyes and nuzzles against his shoulder, pillowing her cheek again.  _Cute._ Then, she pushes away and all but flings the cloak off of her.

"Down," she asks, leaning dangerously to the side, in a sort of 'n' shape.

Tybalt is eager to give his arms a rest after holding her for so long, so he complies without hesitation. Once her little, bare feet touch the wood floor of the room, she scampers away from him, climbing onto the bed and turning to swing her legs off the side of it.

"Are you hungry, Fiona?" She stares at him owlishly for a couple of heartbeats, then points to herself and nods. "I thought you would be."

Tybalt breaks into his pack to withdraw the food he'd intended to give to her earlier: bread and a little bit of meat he got here at the inn: a chicken sandwich. Fiona digs in immediately, ravenously taking as big of bites as she possibly can.

After she finishes eating, he presents to her the clothes he bought for her. 

Her face lights up as he explains they're for her and should fit her better, although she doesn't exclaim very much, just hugs them to her chest with a beaming smile.

* * *

Reaching Kaer Morhen takes a while longer. Fiona's mood improves with her new clothes, but brings with it a new sort of issue.

She very much likes to careen away from him at full speed whenever something interesting catches her eyes, and for a toddler that's lived in the city her whole life, everything in the forest is an intriguing new thing she must investigate.

 _I need a leash for this child,_ Tybalt thinks, catching her in a swooping motion as she begins to veer off the path for the fourth time.  _Hopefully Eskel builds a fence... and lots of gates._

At the thought, he grimaces as he pictures any number of ways she could get hurt at the keep- tumbling down the stairs because it was slick, getting splinters from the old furniture, all the broken stuff around the keep, the blades... maybe it would be better if he dropped her off in Kovir with Geralt and Tris? They adopt children, right?

\- no, he can't do that. Tybalt can already see Geralt's crossed arms, unamused expression, and hear his disapproving, rumbling sigh preceeding his spoken words,  _"You invoked the law of surprise, she's your responsibility, you deal with her,"_ just from thinking it. Tris might feel more pity for him, but he would find no aide from her either.

Maybe he could build a cabin instead, or something like that? Something with less slippery stairs and debris strewn about?

Tybalt shakes his head, tucking the fussy toddler under his arm. "No, Fiona," he says as patiently as he can muster, "It's not safe to just run around the woods."

"Pretty flower," she protests, pointing at a bright, orange topped mushroom with white dots protruding from its flesh.

_Oh sweet child..._

"That's a mushroom and it's poisonous." 

She echoes back at him, like a confused parrot, "Poi-zon-ys?"

"Yes... it's bad for you and can kill you." At this explanation, she gasps loudly, horrified.  _Goodness._

After that, Fiona still takes off suddenly.

She just usually stops, points, and asks, really solemnly, "Is that poisonous?"

It's an... improvement, he supposes? Except she asks _"is that poisonous"_ for every single plant she sees, and even a few rocks. It's inane and...

... it is all things she'll have to learn anyway, so Tybalt stifles his annoyance and answers her when she asks.

Their pace slows down as he decides to let her indulge her curiosity. He never allows them to go too far from the path-  _"So we don't get lost or run into mean monsters that will eat you,"_ he recalls saying once, to Fiona's absolute dismay and horror; she practically clung to his leg the rest of the day (a miracle, really. They made good distance that day)- and her interest is rarely held for more than ten minutes, at most.

When they  _do_ arrive at Kaer Morhen, it is to a very confused Eskel and Lambert torn between amusement and grumpiness.

There's also an exchange of coin between the two after he regales to them the events leading up to him being given a  _four year old._ Fiona, being very shy in the presence of strangers, takes shelter behind his legs, occasionally peeking out at them before hiding away again. Poorly, Tybalt might add, but she is a small child and has not mastered the art of going unseen while in plain sight, so he'll cut her some slack... for now. (He jests, of course.)

* * *

Tybalt does not end up building the cabin, instead forcing Eskel and Lambert to help him clean the keep of debris.


End file.
